outline of your nipples.”
She nearly strangled on her fury. “Go to hell!”
“What are you? C cup? Maybe even a D?”
Oh, God, she did not want to stand here alone with him, closed up in such a small space with his heat and scent invading her lungs. “None of your damn business.”
He lifted his hand in front of him, not to touch her, but to imagine it covering her right breast. His face screwed up while he pretended to heft her. “I’d say a full C.”
A fine trembling started in her neck and went down her spine. She needed to stay composed to face off with Murray Coburn, but for whatever reason, this man wanted to demolish her control. “I say go kill yourself.”
He cracked a smile.
And what that smile did for him…. She couldn’t deny that he was devastatingly handsome. Probably a cutthroat villain, but still gorgeous. That disheveled fair hair and those intense, oddly colored eyes … she shivered.
He lifted a brow. “Cold?”
“No.” She had to distract him. “So I didn’t catch your name.”
“No one gave you my name.”
“It’s a secret, then?” She tried to hunch her shoulders to make her chest less noticeable. “How strange.”
“That doesn’t help,” he said of her posture, “and if you’re really interested?” He held out a hand. “Trace Miller.”
She disdained touching him again. “Is that your real name or an alias?”
With a grin, he retracted his proffered hand. “What do you think?”
“I think you took my driver’s license.”
He went still for a heartbeat, giving her a small measure of satisfaction. Lifting her hands in a “woo-woo” way, she intoned, “I know all, see all.” Then she curled her lip. “And besides, you suck at stealth.”
The elevator stopped and the doors opened with a silent whoosh. Trace took her elbow to keep her from stepping out. Bending to her ear, he said on a mere breath of sound, “Actually, I excel at stealth, which tells me that you have to be trained to think otherwise. So now I’m wondering, what is a trained and deceptive woman doing here, claiming to be the daughter of one of the most powerful and fearsome businessmen in the area?”
Shoot. She shouldn’t have baited him. He was good, and of course he’d know it, the egomaniac. When she tried to pull free, he easily restrained her.
And then another voice intruded.
“Well, well. What the fuck is this?”
Priss looked up at the female, and then had to look up even more. Good God, an Amazon. A really spiteful-looking Amazon all decked out in killer duds as if on the make.
Putting on her sweet and innocent face, Priss said, “Hello. I’m here to see Murray Coburn.”
And suddenly Trace was in front of her. She realized why when the Amazon tried to crowd closer, no doubt to intimidate her physically. Wow. Priss braced herself behind him, trying to see what happened. His big shoulders shifted, flexed under her hands, and then he went still again—all without making a sound.
The Amazon had been forced back several feet, heaving and furious.
Oh, he was good, all right. Really good. She hated to be impressed, but she just couldn’t help it.
Sounding less than charming, Trace said, “Now, now, Hell, retract your claws. Murray wants to see her.”
A venomous snakelike hiss precluded the snarky response. “Did he specify in one piece?”
Priss stiffened. The woman wanted to attack her without provocation?
“No, he didn’t, but until he tells me otherwise, that’s how she’s going to stay.”
Outraged, she fairly screeched, “Damn you, Trace.”
He didn’t budge, and Priss had to admit he made one hell of a blockade.
Was his protectiveness truly motivated just by his hired position? She didn’t think so.
Going on tiptoe to see over his shoulder again, Priss realized he was rock solid, not an ounce of give to his muscles. Huh. She squeezed just a little, fascinated despite herself.
When was the last time any man had caught her interest? Not counting Murray, since her interest in him was all toxic.
The Amazon drew her attention with a slow, contemptible smile.
“One of these days, Trace, definitely sooner than you think, I will settle up with you. Count on it.” And with that she spun on her very high stiletto heels and sashayed away.
“Friend of yours?” Priss asked.
He turned on her so fast, she jumped back a foot.
“You don’t look happy,” Priss noted. What an understatement. “It was just a question. Don’t implode or anything, okay?”
He fumed quietly, and even in his rage, he looked self-possessed. “Under no circumstances will you provoke that woman. Do you understand me?”
Intrigued by the warning, Priss tried to see around him to wherever the woman had gone. He didn’t allow it.
His big, hard hand clasped her face, none too gently. “She will slit your throat and smile while doing it. And no one here will stop her. Do you understand me?”
“Uh …” It wasn’t easy to speak with the way he smooshed her cheeks, but she felt compelled to point out, “You stopped her.”
“This time.” He leaned down, close enough to kiss her, but his eyes said he had far from affectionate gestures on his mind. “I won’t always be around.”
“Duly noted. Now you can stop abusing my face.” He released her and she worked her jaw. “Jerk. I bruise easy.”
His eye did that interesting twitching thing again before he grabbed her elbow and hustled her forward.
The surroundings were decadent. Authentic art on the walls. Twelve-foot ceilings. Polished-marble floors. And tinted windows everywhere.
When she balked, trying to take it all in, Trace all but dragged her. “This way.”
“So dear daddy is rich, huh?”
“You’d be better served to note his power, not his financial status.”
“Got some influence, does he?”
That she’d dropped her Little Ms. Innocent facade didn’t faze him at all. “More than you could realize, or you wouldn’t be here.”
They passed a desk where a cowed woman kept
